Siege
by eternaldawn1130
Summary: Algar, the son of a barbarian king, is thrust into power after his father's untimely death. He is charged with leading his kin overseas to overthrow a mad king. After a storm leaves them powerless, they kin pillage an impoverished village. With the distrust of his people, will he unite the two groups? Will a forbidden romance help him to become the leader he was born to be?
1. Chapter 1: Change of Course

AnN: This is a loosely based Vikings fic, dealing with original characters as well as setting. If this offends you, feel free to skip!

* * *

 _You are my son; blood of greatness and therefore born to lead our people to victory, with blood and fire._

Algar still remembered the words his father told him so long ago. Sometimes, they were the fuel he needed to carry onward. The weeks at sea had proved difficult, as if the gods themselves were testing him. He lost a few men already; some from disease and others from hunger. It was to be as expected, but Algar could not afford the casualties. _Warhammer_ sailed to battle, and even the mightiest of waves and bitter wind could not alter her course. He stared at the darkening clouds in the distance and what appeared to be evidence of land, and quite possibly their salvation. The ship could not take another hit; the hull suffered a weak spot already. Calloused hands balled into fists as uncertainty reared its ugly head.

His father would have known the right course to take. He led their kin for many years, as Algar's grandfather had before him. The people of the north trusted him, as he had been brutal yet fair, and loyal to his own blood. When Algar was young, his father taught him skill with a blade, strategies of war and how to grow into an honest man. He had never asked for power, but the law of his valued bloodline above all else. His father was executed for treachery years ago, when his dwindling mental state made him dangerous and those who would call him brother could no longer place trust. The only person Algar fully trusted was Esmond, who served as council to his father and a second father in the time of his death. He even feared that his mentor doubted his abilities.

"The chill in the air is bitter cold. I fear a storm coming," a familiar voice boomed. The man that approached him wore garb of boiled leather and heavy furs. His dark beard was braided and peppered with speckles of gray. Algar did not need to turn to recognize the man, he knew his voice well. "You have not led us astray; Axos would be proud to look upon the man you have become," he finished.

"Would he, Esmond? Our people followed my father; they do not give me such loyalty. Our sacred laws are the only means to power I have," Algar asked, irritated. In truth, he resembled his father in height and strength. Days spent under the sun's harsh rays had bronzed his skin, and his sandy colored hair had grown several inches over the course of their journey. His ocean colored eyes however belonged to his late mother. Despite the resemblance, it would not cause his men to bend the knee; blood lineage had given him title and purpose, but being his father's son would not win his peoples' respect.

"Then you must show them your worth; put what your father taught you to good use. He was a fine leader, no one will deny that…but you carry a kindness that he never did. Compassion and fairness will win you the love of our people, not bloodshed," the man replied. Esmond was not one to bite his tongue, he spoke his mind truly and Algar was always grateful for it. Esmond focused his attention north, to the darkening clouds ahead, his expression somber.

"What would you have me do?" Algar asked him.

"You are our king, are you not?" Esmond asked with a hearty chuckle and raised brow, drawing in a heavy breath before he spoke words. "I know your concern; if we continue north, we could be sailing right into a storm."

"The ship cannot handle such damage."

"There may be a way, I know of a small patch of land to the east. It is rocky and the soil dry as ash, but it is rumored to outskirt a great forest, one that will give us direct passage to the mountain pass. We could surprise King Alec's forces and grasp a strong hold over his fortress."

Algar was open to the suggestion, as he did not want to endanger the lives of his kin without absolute cause. If they could avoid an incoming storm with an alternative route, it would be in their best interest to take it. Some of the men may not take kindly to his decision, but it was his duty as leader to make such calls.

"What say you, Algar?"

There was a long silence before either man said anything. Algar stared out into the vast ocean waves, his mind teetering on a decision. Esmond stood in silence, awaiting a word from his leader that he feared would never come. It was in that moment that Algar let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had to put his own desires aside and think of the best interest of his kin. Such a decision could set them back in their task, but it was better than risking their lives and gambling with Mother Nature.

"Take up the call; we sail east, until we are able to find safe harbor. From there, we will continue on foot. Any resources that we may find along the way will be ours for the taking. Anyone who does not comply with my wishes will answer to me. Inform whoever is steering this accursed vessel know that this is a direct order, not a suggestion."

It took many men struggling through the muck and icy water to anchor the ship to shore. Algar could tell from resentful glares that his men were not too pleased with him. Glancing at the heavy, dark cloud that formed in the distance, he knew he had made the right decision. Had they perished in a storm, his cause would be for nothing. The countless women, children and old left behind were depending on their safe return. He took his first step upon rocky soil, helping to tie one of the last ropes that he hoped would hold up for the time being.

At the sight of his men, Algar imagined he appeared as filthy, exhausted and hungry as the lot of them. The few months at sea had taken a toll on them; their resources were dwindling and some had already fallen victim to disease from poor living conditions. He could not afford to lose anyone; not if he hoped to defeat King Cyneric.

"Algar, look to the trees in the north! There is smoke!" one of the men called forth.

Gazing his direction forward, spouting forth from the canopy was a thin cloud of dark smoke. While this land appeared to be expired and perfect for wildfire, the smoke appeared to be small and contained…as if it was manmade. A crooked grin formed upon his lips as he glanced back at the blank faces, those whom looked to him for guidance. "We should begin our travels now while we still have daylight on our side; whatever is creating the smoke does not appear far, perhaps a few hours on foot. If there is any sign of a village, we will take what we need and continue onward."

"We have not had proper nourishment in days, and you wish for us to journey into unfamiliar territory? There is nothing for us here, only ocean water and ashen soil. Your poor judgment will lead us to our deaths," a cautious voice spoke. Algar looked to see Bard, the bastard son of Dallin, step forward. He and Dallin had followed his father loyally in the past, but Bard had trouble accepting new leadership. With his copper skin and dark waves of hair, the man looked as though he did not belong from birth. However, for whatever reason, Dallin had decided to claim him and raise him as his own. Despite their differences, Bard was one of his best hunters, and Algar knew better than to cause unnecessary quarrel.

"Then state your grievance, son of Dallin. If you claim to know better, what would you do in my place? We cannot stay here; whatever food we have left has rot. Had we sailed forward the storm could have left us stranded at sea, with no direction to take. I saw land, and opportunity, and therefore I took it. We need resources, and any able bodied men we can find for our cause. There may be some kind of a community north, and if we come upon nothing, I welcome you to place blame. Until I am proven wrong, hold your tongue." Algar's words were simple and his gaze sharp. His willingness to negotiate and ability to understand was often mistaken for fault. He was still learning, but had a will as strong as iron when it came to the best interests of his kin.

"Your father would have advised differently. How do you know that it is not Cyneric's forces that take refuge in these parts? We are weakened, and would not stand a chance. All I ask is that we consider staying here to rest and regain some strength." Bard's words seemed to resonate with the people, Algar could see it in their eyes; their thoughts were shifting. He did not have the time to settle a manic crowd fueled by fear and uncertainty.

Algar shook his head, "We do not have the time. Dusk will be upon us soon and without shelter, nightfall would only be more treacherous. If it is enemy forces, we will destroy all who stand in our way. Those who do not resist must be shown mercy, and may be taken as prisoners. We do not have the time to sit and bicker like women. Your elders, wives and children are waiting for our return. What would happen to them if we allow uncertainty and fear to divide us?"

After a few moments, the men seemed to calm. Each had taken to their swords and axe, disappearing into the greenery, hacking away at the brush. Bard glanced at Algar before following suit. Only a few began their trek, and then clusters of men started to spread out, taking different routes to cover as much land as possible. He only hoped that what or who they came across were peaceful beings.


	2. Chapter 2: Hell

AnN: This is a loosely based Vikings fic, dealing with original characters as well as setting. If this offends you, feel free to skip!

* * *

 **ANA**

King Cyneric's rise to power was not a pleasant one. He became known as the advisor to the king who ruled before, a kind and fair man who cared for his people, of wealth or not. Years of prosperity came to a screeching end when that king had perished. It was rumored that Cyneric was responsible for his poisoning, but whatever the reason; he was the first of the vultures to pick at his lord's remains. Cyneric manipulated those far and wide to join him, using fear and violence to bend others to his will. In the beginning, Cyneric played the role of his former king, giving bread to those who had none. It did not take long for his true colors to show. For many years, he spent locked in the comforts of his fortress south of these lands. The poorer villages scattered along the outskirts were left to deal with little resources, and an awful drought that destroyed their crop and soil. Most perished and Cyneric turned a blind eye to the suffering of those beneath him.

Ana had been born of such a village; it rested on the outskirts of forest and a large body of water that led into the greater ocean pass. Greenery and rivers continued south for many miles; eventually, the terrain turned rougher, which led to the eroded mountains that protected Cyneric's domain. The village was small, and relied on fishing when the crop became desolate. They were a close knit group, whom helped one another to survive during the rougher winter seasons. With their faith and resilience, they managed to survive when others had not. Even so, everyday life was a struggle for most.

"I swear to the gods Erik, if you make me spill a drop of this stew, you'll be in big trouble," Anna snapped after minutes of having a raggedy, knitted doll shoved in her face.

The fair haired boy frowned, "You're no fun anymore. We used to play together all the time." His words were soft as he crawled up to sit on the wooden table, watching as the young woman next to him stirred a large pot. He inhaled the aroma and squealed in anticipation.

The girl raised a brow and couldn't help but smirk, "I'm not a child anymore, Erik. I'm a married woman now; things cannot be what they once were." She could not bear to see the child's sadness, so she tickled him until he burst with laughter. "I will always be your sister, remember that," she reminded him as she ruffled his hair.

"Is it ready yet?"

Ana sighed at the child's impatience; "Not quite, Mother spent all morning preparing it. I told her I would watch it while she brought in Abigail," she began, referring the only livestock they had left; a spotted goat that whose meat was useless, but served a purpose in providing milk.

"I can go and fetch her for you?"

"Go on ahead, Erik. If you see Papa, tell him that I cannot stay much longer. If he can manage to tear himself away from his work for a moment," she teased, smacking the boy on the rump playfully, before he rushed out the door. His laughter carried on for a few moments after he left.

Ana's eighteenth name day had recently passed; her brother was born years before her. He was a child still, born the night of a heavy rainstorm. Ana remembered it well, as she had helped her mother raise him over the years. Her mother had always tired and was unwell for most of her adult life, but she was still beautiful in her own way. Her contributions were always limited, which left some of the chores to Ana. She didn't mind helping, her father could not do it all on his own. Years of hard labor and aging had taken a toll on him; his movements strained and his face, wrinkled and ashy. Despite their struggles, her family seemed to be able to get by year after year.

The time seemed to idle. There was only so many times that she could cut the pieces of bread, or check on the stew. When it had finished, Ana removed it from flame and let it simmer. Surely, she would have heard something by now? She expected Erik to come rushing back in, or her father to wash up for supper. When she could no longer wait, Ana went outside, leaving the security of their tiny home to find the area eerily quiet. She walked past the linens that hung upon rope, left unattended, as well as the wash bucket filled with cold water. Something wasn't right, so she continued on, hollering the names of her brother, mother, father and even her husband. There was only silence, and not a soul in sight. It was truly a strange sight, in a village that was so small.

She continued on, to find her father gone from the field he had been working in; Abigail still out to pasture. The little pond she would have expected to find Erik playing in had not one child. Now, she felt her heart begin to pound in her chest, and she panicked. _What on earth is happening?_ Instead of walking, Ana found herself picking up the pace, turning to a light jog. Rushing to the small cabin that she had called home for the past year, her husband Godric was nowhere to be found. She searched each room and called for him, but got no reply.

It was then that she heard a faint sound, out in the distance. It was soft, but piercing enough to make her skin crawl and body flinch. Her heart dropped in her chest as she recognized an awful scream and consumed in a paralyzing fear.

Now Ana was running, following the screams that followed, growing louder by the passing second. In her panic, she did not see anything blocking her path. She fell to the ground, covered in dirt and a dark, crimson liquid. She glanced to her left to find a crumpled body of a man on the ground, lifeless, in a pool of his own blood. She screeched in fear and fought the bile that rose to her throat. Rushing to her feet, she could not focus on the sight for long. In the distance, what she saw frightened her above all else. She could feel the color draining from her face, and the hair on her arms stand tall.

She stared for a long time, trying to comprehend the events that were unfolding before her. Strange men poured from the forest like beasts, wearing strange furs and garb, wielding axes and heavy blades. Fire had caught some of the brush which spooked a horse. They came like a tidal wave, cutting down all those who opposed them, all of the weak men who tried to fight back with nothing more than farming tools to protect them. Some gathered the younger, compliant men, binding them with rope along with the sobbing women whom cradled their children and elderly. Others pillaged homes, most likely searching for livestock, not knowing they wouldn't find much. Some had taken to the younger girls, forcing them inside; she shuddered to think what would happen to them.

She couldn't help the tears that fell from her cheeks, what had they done to deserve such a punishment? Hadn't they all suffered enough? It was a scene of bloodshed and carnage, a convincing living hell. Her thoughts came to her family, had they found a safe place to hide? She prayed for their sakes that they had. She took a few steps forward despite her instincts telling her to turn and run. Something caught her eye; a piece of fabric that she recognized. It was a woolen tunic, worn by a man she knew well. She had sewn it for him the past winter.

Two men had pulled away from the group, throwing a much smaller man to the ground. He appeared helpless, like a child, at their complete mercy. It appeared as though the man tried to fight back, and that was when the stranger threw the first punch. In that moment, Ana pitied him, until she caught a glimpse of his face, bloodied and dirtied, her eyes widened.

"Papa…"

She let out a hoarse cry as her heart nearly stopped in her chest. If she didn't step forward, they were going to kill him, she was sure of it. The bony, elder man was no match for these intruders. Despite her better judgment, her feet seemed to move for her, sprinting forward even though she too was terrified. All the while, her only concern was for her father and to spare him the cruel end that so many others were sure to meet.


	3. Chapter 3: Begin anew

AnN: This is a loosely based Vikings fic, dealing with original characters as well as setting. If this offends you, feel free to skip!

* * *

 **ALGAR**

They had been watching the village for some time, taking refuge in the heavy brush and trees before Algar had given the signal to move forward. He had led them into battle more than once; taking such a place as this would be simple. His kin descended upon the community like a great wave, crushing everything in its path. He smirked as some grabbed whatever pathetic weapons they could find, and watched as they fell to their end. Those who were insubordinate had to be executed. Spilled blood collected into the imprints of dirt, companied with the shrill wails of women and the sniveling men that begged for their lives.

When Algar came upon the sight of such violence, the worst ended. His men did not idle when it came to such tasks; that and the villagers did not harbor much of value. There were a few goats and chickens; the true prize was an elderly heifer, but she was no more than skin and bone. Others, it seemed, had pursued other interests. He eyed the girls whose clothes were ripped and skin riddled with fresh bruises. The look in their eyes told the tragedy that did not need guessing. Whatever was left of their makeshift homes had been torn apart; fires left unattended had morphed into small, widespread patches.

While Algar was known to express confidence in times of war, he was not a cruel beast and his kin were not animals. Sometimes, compassion was as important as brute strength. The young and stronger men were assembled together; as were the women, children and elderly. Each group had a purpose of their own in Algar's mind and his hope was to utilize each to his advantage. He looked over each group, observing their quivering forms plead and shrink in fear. _These people are weak…frail and malnourished. They can serve no greater good, nor are their resources as promising as I had hoped,_ he thought to himself with a discouraged sigh.

His eyes averted from the group of women to a commotion beginning only a few feet from him. An older man had spoken up against one of his men; a fatal mistake. Algar did not see one of his own harassing a young girl. The man was then struck and tossed about like a ragdoll. As Algar descended upon the scene, the older man appeared helpless, raising his arms to shield his face. He recognized one of his own and was prepared to reprimand him. However, as he pushed his way through the small crowd of bystanders, something unexpected occurred.

"Please, stop this now!"

A soft, flowery voice shrieked as a mass of purple fabric fell over the man. Algar was surprised, and confused to find that a young girl had nearly thrown herself over the man, defending him from any further retaliation. It amused him, as the girl appeared delicate, unlike the women in his homelands. What was she prepared to do to protect this man, against strangers who were bigger in size and power? They exchanged a few hushed words that he could not comprehend, and could not help but wonder what importance this man held to her.

It was then that Algar turned his attention to the man that had started the mess, "Fane, what 's the meaning of this!?" he boomed.

"The old man raised his voice…and hand to me; A lesson for all who would think it wise to do the same."

Algar's eyes narrowed, "Which would only instill more fear, and result in a mess that I would have to clean."

Fane lowered his head and moved aside as Algar stepped forward, looking to the girl before him, whose entire body seemed to tremble. Despite the signs of fear, her gaze was locked upon him. He towered over the two, sending a sharp glare to the older man who begged him not to hurt the child. The farmer had done enough talking; it was the female's turn to speak. Algar was interested in what she had to say, able to give respect to her small act of bravery.

"What is this man to you?"

"H-he is my father," her response seemed no more than a whisper.

"Rise to your feet, I would look upon the face of those I speak with. What would you have me do with him?"

He watched as the girl stumbled to her feet, trembling like a newborn calf. As the moments passed, she began to calm and averted her gaze to his own, rather than staring at his feet. Moss colored eyes bore into him, and all Algar saw in her was the same weakness reflected in her people. Pale skin due to the isolation of the village, and small framed. It was strange to him, as his kin reflected strength and survival in every breath. It was then that Algar began to regret his decision to take refuge in these lands. Perhaps they would have fared better chancing the storm.

"Your kind has caused enough damage…enough suffering. I would beg you to spare him."

There was a long pause before Algar spoke again, "Then it is done. What is your name, girl?"

"My name is Ana."

"Well then Ana, take this as a warning, another disturbance like this, and I will not be as forgiving the next time. Do you understand?"

The girl mustered a nod of her head as tears of relief fell from her cheeks. Her father rose to his knees and pulled her into a long embrace, showering her with kisses. Algar averted his eyes and looked over the crowd, his own kin mixed with the villagers. Judging from the information given from a man he had sent to patrol the area, the ashy soil and lessened sunlight did not offer much to this place. While it was not ideal to stay, he knew that his men carried little resources. If he had hoped to reach the mountains north, he could not go on like this. He needed to replenish in food, men and weaponry.

"All of you must listen well. Whatever goods you carry are less than we can use. I will be leading men north, and will require able arms to strengthen my army. Perhaps, we may be able to help one another. There is no need for more bloodshed or violence," Algar bellowed, speaking to not only his men, but to anyone that would heed his words. The villagers seemed confused and his men seemed doubtful, but as ideas tossed about in his skull, he thought of the perfect opportunity to salvage his cause.

"This place is full of bodies of our loved ones. Your people brought carnage to our lands, why would we help you?" an elderly woman asked.

"The frost will be coming in only a few short months. Your people will not survive long enough to see it through, and whatever means you have now to feed your children will be useless. King Cyneric's troops raid villages like these in a matter of days, what will stop them from coming here? What would you do then?"

Those who seemed skeptical fell silent, as they began to understand their own predicament and Algar could see the terror in their eyes as clear as day.

"My men have fought many battles, we know how to survive. We left our homes to destroy the King and once that task is complete, we will return to the mountains from which we came. I offer you clothing, rations of our hunt, and most important, protection. In return, I ask for any able bodied man to join in our cause and fight alongside us. It is my hope that in time, we may all come together, as trusted brother and sister. We also require weapons, though I doubt we will find any here. When spring is upon us, we will take our leave. It is my hope that you would join our ranks, but the choice will be yours."

It was then that Ana rose to her feet, pulling her father along with her. "My daughter's husband is a blacksmith, he may be able to help in some way," he stated.

In this, Algar was relieved. Perhaps there was a way to turn this situation into a positive one. He knew that his greatest task would be in trying to earn the trust of the villagers and assimilating them among his own kin. It was not an easy task, but one he knew he had to accomplish. There was no room for failure; he had too much to lose.

"Everyone will have a role among us; training will be led by Fane and those who have skill in hunting could be of use to Bard and his group. Other trades may be valuable if we have use for it. There is no room for dead weight in my ranks. Women will be useful in the preservation and preparation of meals. Others may have skill in medicine or looking after the children. Everyone will play an integral part in the survival of the group. You will have your families, your children will be safe, and we will get through dark times together. "

"What of those who do not wish to bend the knee to the likes of heathens of the north?"

Those who do not cooperate will be dealt with; you may live under the new rule, or die clinging to your old ways. Either way it makes no difference," Algar growled.

It was then that Algar spoke a word in a foreign tongue, which resembled the tone of a command. His men began to remove the restraints of the villagers, once they felt the group had calmed. There was no more chaos, it seemed that they felt confident enough to stand their ground. The handful of cowards who decided to flee were left be. Algar did not have the men to waste to retrieve them, nor did he wish to keep prisoners against their will. Creating a hostage environment bred fear, which in turn fueled retaliation and chaos. He wanted to avoid any of that if it could be helped.

"Let them go, Esmond. We have no room for cowards, here," he told his second in command.

"Are you certain?"

Algar nodded, "Tomorrow, we start to rebuild. Give orders for the men to set up camp; I will take up the first watch. Tonight, we will share whatever bread we have and hunt for what we do not. These months will be long and treacherous, if I cannot bring these people together, there will be no hope for any of us."

Esmond smirked, "Your father would not have spoken in such a way."

"I will be better than my father was. I will not rely on fear to lead. This power was not one that I wanted, but if I do not take charge, Cyneric will have both of our heads."

"Aye, or feed us to his dogs."


End file.
